Deadly Deception (SCVC Taskforce) (12 page)

Go back?
The rumble of tanks shakes the ground. From inside the bus, women and children scream. Her ears ring.
Can’t go back. Can’t get inside the bus…

Dogs. Barking, barking, barking.
The kennels
.

Get there…

“The siege is over! Come out now! Come out…”

Boom
…deep and hollow, the sound explodes all around her. The ground shakes. Adam shrieks…

Ronni woke with a start, sweat bathing her hairline. Darkness engulfed her. A blanket covered her legs.

Blinking, she sat up, rubbed her eyes. The fuzziness in her brain lifted and she recognized the outline of the furniture. Thomas’s apartment.

Safe.

Too many nights in too many different places. They were all starting to blur together. She was never by herself, yet she felt totally and utterly alone. Alone with her nightmares. Of Wrightsville. Of Valquis and his goddamn knife.

Home. I need a home.
No place had ever felt like home except for Mount Royal.

The siege is over
…the words echoed in her ears.

The siege was
never
over. Not in her dreams.

Outside, a noisy truck engine revved. Lights cut through the living room window. In the other room, the squeak of the back door sent alarm bells ringing inside her head.

Heart racing, she felt for her gun. Her holster was gone…on the table. Thomas must have removed it and laid it there. Her fingers touched the cold metal. Familiar, reassuring. She wrapped her hand around the Glock, checked the clip and chamber. Loaded and ready. Now, where was Thomas?

Leaving the sofa, she listened closely to the sounds outside. Shadows closed in around her as she tiptoed toward the kitchen, heading for the back door.

Tires squealed at the end of the block. Soft light filtered through the kitchen window. No Thomas.

Gripping the butt of the gun, she shimmied up to the window, staying out of sight and peeked at the yard and street. Taillights disappeared around the corner. Nothing else moved.
No one’s here. Not anymore.

And then, movement out of the corner of her eye. A man’s shadow crossed the yard, right under the window. Ronni jumped back, holding her breath, counting to three. She peaked out again.

Definitely male…definitely moving around the perimeter. Definitely carrying one big-ass gun. The man was shirtless, his shoulders and well-defined back muscles rippling under the moonlight.

Thomas?

Ronni bolted for the door, threw it open. He was gone. What was he doing out there? Had the Cadillac returned?

She’d heard the engine, seen the taillights.
Truck, not car
. “Thomas?” she called quietly into the night.

Another shadow, low to the ground and moving fast skirted the bushes near the house. Her instincts had her gun up before her brain registered
animal
.

“Ronni?”

She spun at the sound of her name, gun aimed at the man easing out of the shadows on her right. He stilled, raising his hands. “Whoa, there, Agent Punto. Don’t shoot your partner.”

Thomas
.

Relief.

He’d changed into sweats and left off a shirt. Her gaze feasted on his chest and taut stomach. Slowly, she let the breath she’d been holding ease out. Lowered her gun. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

His eyes, dark and guarded, slid over her body, her gun. He lowered his hands, let his Beretta rest next to his thigh. “Stalking the neighbors, what else?”

A flippant comment didn’t cover the fact he was still tense. On the ready. For what? “Who was in the truck?”

He glanced at the street, back to her. “Let’s go inside.”

Questions burned in her mind, but she kept quiet until they were inside the kitchen, door closed and locked. Thomas didn’t turn on any lights, didn’t say anything for a minute. Ronni waited…waited…waited.

From the faint glow of light through the window, she could see the stillness of his body. See the tension tightening his face. His head was cocked, listening.

Wait…was he listening or was he staring at her?

She slowed her nervous breathing, listened to the night as well. An occasional traffic sound rose and fell in the distance. A light breeze rustled palm trees in the dividers between the streets.

No startling noises, no sense of danger. At least not from outside.

His eyes were shadowed circles in his face. She could feel his gaze on her. Hot, lingering.

“You’re safe,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “The truck was an informant. Name’s Diego and he had dirt on a scumbag Cooper’s been chasing for weeks. It wasn’t Adam.”

“Oh.” Why did that deep voice of his make her so nervous?
Definitely watching me.
“Does Diego always deliver intel at four in the morning?”

“Guy works nights.” He laid his gun on the counter without taking his eyes off her. “How’d you sleep?”

Sleep. Why did the word sound so sexy coming out of his mouth? Why did her fingers itch to touch his chest, trace the barely-there line of hair down his stomach and into his waistband? “Is there a reason we’re standing in the dark?”

“Sounded like you had bad dreams.”

She backtracked. Her breath caught. “
Sounded
like?”

“You talk in your sleep. Must have been some nightmare.”

“I don’t talk in my sleep.”

His brows arched. “Your boyfriend never told you?”

“Boyfriend?” A bead of sweat ran down her cleavage. “I don’t have a boyfriend and you know it. Stop playing games.”

“I had to be sure.”

“Of what?”

“That you weren’t in a relationship.”

No, there was no relationship. No boyfriend. No home or family. Just her past and her job with the Bureau. Her voice shivered in her throat as she forced herself to ask, “Why?”

His answer was to step closer.

He was right there, standing in front of her. Not touching her. Oh, no. He wouldn’t touch a cornered animal. A wounded animal. He knew there were boundaries. But he stepped close enough that she could feel the heat from his body.
Those muscles…

Her nipples tightened, the lacy bra under her shirt rubbed against the sensitive skin.
Back away.
She shouldn’t be this close to him. Her job, this case,
everything
depended on keeping her personal distance as well as professional. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Do this.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

Goose bumps rose on her skin. She was hungry for him and he knew it. Hungry for his touch. For this moment.
Block the past. Don’t worry about the future
. “Nothing can happen between us. I can’t…”

The words hung in the air, waiting for her to finish the sentence. What exactly was it she couldn’t do? Give into the desires coursing through her body? Give him access to her secrets?

She was a grown woman. A woman who’d lived a unique life and had, at one time, embraced her uniqueness. Now, she felt diminished. Like she had to keep things under wraps and not call attention to herself. Thomas would change that. He’d already given her back her confidence, made her feel needed again.

“I’m not asking you for anything,” he said quietly.

She chuckled under her breath. “Then why are you standing so close to me in the dark? Why is your voice low and soft and seductive?”

He was hungry too. For her. For forgiveness. Could she give it to him?

He brushed a hair back from her cheek. “Dangerous waters, here. Waters you make me want to tread.”

The slightest touch of his fingers across her skin. The lingering of his gaze on her lips.

I can’t. I can’t…I
won’t
.
“I can’t give you what you want.”

“How do you know what I want?”

Her eyes dropped to his naked chest, lower. She saw the rise of fabric under his sweatpants. Forced herself not to lick her lips. “Rule One: I don’t sleep with fellow agents.”

“Of course not.” There was no mockery in his voice. No teasing. “We’re working a case. It would be unprofessional.”

“Rule Two: I don’t obsess over the past. I live in the moment. You’re forgiven. That’s all I can give you, and that should be enough.”

“Agreed.”

Again, no sarcasm, no goading.
Seduction by sincerity
. Who knew it would be such a turn-on? “Stop being so nice.”

“Twenty-four hours, remember? No teasing, joking, or anything else
fun
.” He ran a hand down her arm, touched her hand where it still gripped the Glock tightly. “Why are you shaking?”

Shaking? She hadn’t noticed. Her whole body trembled anew from his touch and shivered in the dark. Left-overs from the nightmare? Diego’s visit? An approaching anxiety attack?

Or the fact Thomas continued to invade her space?

Shadows floated around them. In the faint light coming through the kitchen window, she could see each band of muscle running from his collarbone down. The bulge swelled prominently under the sweatpants. A heavy six-o’clock shadow graced his jawline.

She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. Tried to find her voice.

“Talk to me.” He scanned her face. “What’s scaring you right now?”

Her pulse jumped.
Everything
. For half a second, she wanted him to stop being so damn concerned and just slam her up against the wall for quick and dirty sex. “I’m not scared,” she lied. “Just tired. I need sleep.”

“Take my bed. I’ll hit the couch.”

Still he didn’t move.

“Is that what you want?” The words were out before she could call them back. “Sleep?”

His jaw worked. “I want you to trust me.”

Trust. That fucking elusive thing.

I
do
trust you. Just not with my heart
. “Nothing personal. I have trust issues with everyone.”

“Ah.” He chuckled, finally stepping back. He retrieved his gun and slipped it into the back waistband of the sweats. “The old, ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ routine. I get it.”

Why did he have to analyze everything? “You make it sound like I’m breaking up with you.”

“Hard to break up with someone you haven’t even kissed.”

She wanted his heat back. His solid presence.
Forget Des Moines. I want to forget the molehill and Adam and Peter Valquis for a few moments
.

She wanted—
needed
—to live in the now and forget the feelings of abandonment constantly humming under her skin. “I’ve kissed you.”

“At the station? You call
that
a kiss?”

Mocking? She was strung too tight to call him on it. “It was a damn good kiss.”

A shrug. He walked away, heading for the living room. “If you say so.”

How dare he criticize her and then walk out of the room? Dangerous waters, indeed. “Just a minute, Mann.”

She followed, ready to read him the riot act. The living room was darker than the kitchen. Before she could get another word out, he grabbed her, brought her in close. His voice was edgy in her ear. The stubble on his cheek grazed the sensitive skin under her earlobe. “What aren’t you telling me?”

The lust hit her, a sharp tingling of nerves. Her breasts pressed against his hard chest. She pushed back with one hand, her gun in the other, wishing instead that she could pull him in, cling to him. Feel his warm skin against hers.

He thought she was holding out on him. Well, she was about some things. But she wasn’t about to be manhandled. “Let go.”

“Is that what
you
want?” Slightly mocking again.

I want to be held.
“I was dreaming of Wrightsville.”

He stilled, but didn’t turn her loose. “What?”

“The nightmare.” His arms felt grounded, safe.
I want to feel safe.
“You wanted to know about my bad dream? That’s what it was about. The night of the siege.”

Blood pounded in her ears. She could smell his clean scent, feel the rise and fall of his breathing. He started to open his mouth to console her or ask another question or whatever. She didn’t want to talk about the dreams. The fires. The tanks. Her mother’s screams….

Shut. It. Down.
“Now tell me what was wrong with my kiss.”

A slow grin spread across his face. Her lips parted, his came down on them. Wet, demanding. Everything else ceased.

Perfect
.

Live in the moment.

She moaned into his mouth and slid her hand behind his head. She needed him closer. Tighter. He thought her first kiss at the police station was lacking? She’d show him…

He lifted her off the ground and pushed her against the wall. Her mind balked, but her legs instinctively went around his waist. Her ankle met metal, cold and hard. His gun.

His body slid against hers, hips grinding her into the wall even as his lips worked over her mouth. He smothered her face and neck with kisses.

She gave him what he demanded, gave herself up to not thinking. Bucking her hips to egg him on, she kissed, sucked, and licked him back. Heat exploded between her legs and she loosened her hold around his waist slightly, opening herself even more to the solid thickness of him.